TABASCO: GETTING SAUCY ON AVERY ISLAND

There are very few mornings when I don’t wake up to at least one invitation to go on a press trip. I am very grateful that anyone thinks I might be worth spending their client’s money on, but the truth is that precious few of the offers have much appeal and I turn nearly every one down with a polite e-mail.

A few weeks ago however, I received a mail from one of my favourite writing clients, www.askmen.com, to whose site I contribute a weekly column. The mail asked me if I was interested in representing them during a press trip to Avery Island, the home of the McIlhenny Co. producers of Tabasco Hot Sauce.

For once I was definitely interested. Not only am I a bit of a fan of Tabasco and use it in many recipes but, I had also already marked down a visit to their factory on my wish list for my new project. Fed, White & Blue is a journey that will see me travel around the USA finding out what it means to become an American through the food they eat, part of my own move towards first residency and then citizenship of this remarkable country. It was a perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone and a week or so later, I found myself boarding a plane for one of my favourite cities in the world, New Orleans.

Avery Island is situated about 2 ½ hours drive to the west of The Big Easy. It is not strictly speaking an island, more of a raised dome of salt surrounded by marshes, swamps and the famous Louisiana bayous. The salt is the reason that Avery Island was first inhabited by the local native American tribe and provides all the salt used in the production of Tabasco right up to today.

Tabasco was first produced in 1868 by Edmund McIlhenny. His chain of confederate banks had failed during the American Civil War and he returned to the family island to find other ways of making a living. He began making a hot sauce for his own use, using local peppers, salt from the island’s mine and imported vinegar from Bordeaux. The name of the peppers “Tabasco” was taken from the local Indian dialect and meant “place where it is hot and humid”. It was the perfect climate for growing the peppers and Edmund’s hot sauce soon began to become a regular addition to the bland food of post war Louisiana. It soon began to gain wider popularity and, thanks to Edmund’s assiduous record keeping, we know that its fame spread rapidly to the rest of the United States and, in 1874, even across The Pond to Britain.

Tabasco is still a family business and many of the clan live on the island alongside a large number of the two hundred strong workforce. David Landry is a perfect example. He was born on the island and has worked for the company for over forty years. He was the perfect guide during our time on the island.

Our tour of the facility was not planned to take place until the next morning. So, after depositing our bags at the island’s guest accommodation and grabbing a Boudin Po’Boy for lunch at The Tabasco Deli, the staff commissary, we had chance to see much of the island.

Included in our tour were The Jungle Gardens, created by E.A. McIlhenny in the early part of the 20th Century as a place to relax and as a sanctuary for the endangered Snow Egrets which had almost been hunted to the point of extinction. We were also warned to keep an eye out for the alligators who call the local swamps their home and are not too keen to receive visitors.

All of this, plus the long drive from the city just about had us beat. But, not so beat that we could not enjoy a bit of Louisiana hospitality that evening at local restaurant Shucks. As the name might lead you to believe, it specialised in oysters. I love oysters, but unfortunately, they no longer love me and I had to watch as my companions cleared the best part of a hundred assorted bi-valves from the table while I concentrated on my duck and sausage gumbo. It’s a hard life I lead, but I soldier on.

The following morning, after a delicious breakfast of crawfish Étouffée, we finally got chance to see where Tabasco was made. Joining Dave Landry as our guide, was Harold “Took” Osborn, another family member who was now Vice President of Agriculture for the McIlhenny Co. He is a larger that life character whose main task in life seems to be giving everyone he encounters as hard a time as possible, but his love for his work and the family product is tangible.

He began by explaining that Tabasco only contains three ingredients, salt, vinegar, and of course, the proprietary species of hot peppers. Given that the facility on the island produces nearly 750,000 bottles of sauce a day it was hardly a surprise when he informed us that most of the peppers are now grown abroad on plantations in Latin America and even Africa. To maintain quality, the seed for the peppers is still grown on the island and sent to the producers with enough Avery Island salt to make the mash for the sauce.

Pepper pickers are given a stick called “Le Petite Baton Rouge” painted in the colour of a perfectly ripe pepper so they know which ones to harvest. These are mashed with salt the same day as they are picked and then packed into containers to be shipped back to the island. Once they return, they are sealed in used Bourbon barrels to allow the mash to age for three years in a vast warehouse that can house over 60,000 barrels.

After we had visited the greenhouse where the seeds are prepared, Took led us to the cooperage to meet master cooper, Hamilton Polk who has also been at the company for well over forty years. His job is to prepare the barrels and cover the lids using a layer of salt. This will harden during the ageing process to form a protective seal from bugs.

His other task was to give visitors to the island the chance to become members of the “Not So Sacred Order of The Not So Silver Spoon”. An award for those people who have been “lucky” enough to have a taste of the raw mash. It was, Took told us rather gleefully, ten times as hot as the final Tabasco sauce with which we were all so familiar.

We dutifully lined up to each dip our little fingers in the mash which Mr. Hamilton had retrieved from an open barrel. The air in the cooperage was soon filled with the spluttering of all of us and we were warned to wash our hands immediately because of the inevitable and painful consequences if we wanted to use the bathroom later on. Duty done, Took presented us with an honorary tasting spoon and declared us members of what he claimed was a very exclusive club. I have my doubts, but I am very proud of my spoon.

After the mash has aged, it is drained of the brine created by the addition of salt and then milled to remove excess solids. The remains are then mixed with vinegar and the flavours allowed to marry in large tanks for a further thirty days. During this stage of the process, the contents of the large containers are stirred. It is at the same rate as the original barrels were stirred by hand and is one of the only parts of the whole production of Tabasco that uses any mechanisation at all. Finally, the contents of the containers are strained and the result is the familiar red liquid that has become the world’s most popular hot sauce. This is then bottled and sent out to over 160 countries in containers that carry labels printed in over 20 languages and dialects.

The whole task of producing Tabasco takes five years. That’s two to germinate the seeds and grow the peppers and three to age and process the mash. I may well have been a great fan of the sauce before, but the opportunity to visit the island and to see the production process of the sauce at the source has definitely given me a whole new appreciation of what I use so often in cooking.

That little bottle with its familiar diamond label will never seem quite the same again.

THE CURLEW: FOOD STAR

The kerfuffles over M*chel*n becomes ever more insignificant as the years roll by. Let’s face it, if you work in or own a restaurant it’s nice to get recognition for your travails during the year but as a guide on to where to eat out: not so much.

Having said that where once the stars would guide you towards food that was overwrought and tasted nothing of itself (Canon of Lamb anyone?) now it does at least cover a few more styles than the essentially poncified. Amen to that.

The Curlew in Bodiam, East Sussex is the very antithesis of that ornate style: by that I mean the sort of place where simultaneous cloche-lifting has been raised to fine art and where it takes a few seconds to focus in on the small assemblage in the middle of a very large plate and realise it was your main course.

Certainly there is a good level of technique and refinement to the food at The Curlew but the whole experience still came over as relaxed and unaffected and very enjoyable.

The kitchen is obviously a big follower of ace businessman and all-round good guy Tom Aikens as everything is served on boards. I know of few foods which are improved by being served on planks of wood and in some cases it’s a downright hindrance to eating one’s grub.

Take my first starter of Herring. Big meaty fillets of lightly soused Herring were served in a min-kilner jar with some grated horseradish, a little cream of that root and some Rye bread. Beautiful to taste, but a bugger to try and eat.

A second starter of Yorkshire Black Pudding was a clever assembly of Watercress, little balls of crisp sweet apple and interspersed with cubes of rich Foie Gras. The turnover had lovely, buttery, flaky pastry but I found the Black Pudding slightly claggy and its rich taste didn’t come through like it should have. Still, an enjoyable dish.

The signature Chop and Chips turned out to be more than the sum of its parts. Jacob’s Ladder (short rib) had been cooked sous-vide for, oh, ages and ages. I’m not a fan of this method of cooking. Sure, it’s convenient for the kitchen and the results are very consistent: even colouring; moistness. But like all meat that has been cooked this way you end up something that is not terribly interesting. Beef needs to be cooked so that it has a wider range of tastes and textures. Chips cooked in Beef Dripping were verging on the fat but just rescued from that chip graveyard.

Surprisingly, the most impressive element was the zippy, mayo-free coleslaw, something that Barbecoa tried to do but failed quite miserably. It may sound like I didn’t enjoy the dish but despite the small individual weaknesses as a whole it was well balanced and just worked.

The kitchen has a pretty sure hand with puds as well – a Chestnut honey tart was light and soft and refined although serving the equally delicious Green Walnut ice cream on a board just seemed weird. At least my Mince Pie ice cream (which actually did taste of mince pies) was served in a bowl.

The service from a handful of young women was relaxed and friendly yet utterly professional: when I mentioned a mini-Bakewell pudding I had seen wafting passed me earlier in the meal they rustled one up to go with my (excellent) coffee. The owners even arranged for a taxi to take come and pick me up from the nearest station – recommended as The Curlew is in the middle of nowhere – and to deposit me less steadily back on the London bound train.

Oh, and The Curlew has just got recognition from the Fat Tyre Man - but I doubt it will change them. Amen (again) to that.

HOME COOKING: ONION BHAJI & CORIANDER, CHILLI DIPPING SAUCE

Sorry if I have been a little quiet recently, but let me shout out a huge thanks to Hermano Primero for his stalwart efforts to keep everyone entertained.

I have been swamped with work in the last few weeks.  I am working on the proposal for a new book, talking TV with lots of different people and, not least concentrating on my regular gig of providing a weekly recipe for www.askmen.com.

I promise to pay more attention to the blog over the next few weeks and can also tell you that there will be lots of posts, in April, as I head out on a ten state US road trip through Washington, Oregon, Idaho, Montana, Minnesota, Nebraska, North Dakota, South Dakota, Kansas and Missouri.

In the meantime, I hope sharing one of my favourite and most well received recipes will keep you occupied

Speak soon

ONION BHAJJI WITH CORIANDER CHILLI DIPPING SAUCE

INGREDIENTS (SERVES 4)

FOR THE BHAJJI

2 Large White Onion

2 Cups of Gram flour (also called Chickpea or Gabanzo Flour, which is available at any good market)

1 Tsp Chilli Powder

¼ Tsp Turmeric

¼ Tsp Salt

¼ Tsp Sugar

¾ Cup Water

Vegetable Oil For Deep Frying.

FOR THE DIP

2 x Large Bunches of fresh corriander(stalks and leaves)

5 x Green Chillies

2 x Limes (Juice and Zest)

4 Cloves Garlic

2 Inches Fresh Ginger

5 Tbs Yoghurt (Low Fat is Fine)

¼ Tsp Salt

¼ Tsp Sugar

 METHOD

Cut the onions into half inch chunks.

Sift the flour into a mixing bowl.

Add the dry spices, salt and sugar to the flour and combine well.

Add the water gradually, stirring to make a thick batter similar to heavy cream in consistency.  If the batter is too thick add more water, if it is too thin, sift in a little more flour until you get the desired result.

Add the onion chunks to the batter, cover the bowl with plastic wrap and chill for one hour.

While the batter is chilling, place all the ingredients for the dip in a large blender and blitz to a smooth puree. 

Heat vegetable oil in a deep sided pan.  To check the temperature is correct for deep frying, drizzle a little of the batter into the oil.  If it sizzles and rises to the surface, it is ready for cooking.

Take one of two chunks of the batter covered onion and drop them into the oil, taking care as they will begin to spit as they cook.

Do not add too many onions to the batter at one time as this will reduce the temperature of the oil and make the end result soggy.

Cook each bhaji until it is golden brown, then remove and drain on kitchen towel.

Sprinkle with salt and serve with the delicious hot, sour coriander sauce.

POPPIES: JEELIED EELS, JELLIED EELS WOBBLING ABOUT LIKE WONKY WHEELS

Jellied Eels? Not bleedin’ likely guv. I think it was probably being force fed them by my grandparents whilst on holiday in Bournemouth that led me to think of them as the Devil’s spawn. HS loves them so go, as they say, figure.

If you really want to try them (and I strongly suggest you don’t) you can get them from Tubby Issacs seafood stall on Petticoat Lane but they also have them at Poppies Fish and Chips a brand, spanking new chippy just opposite Spitalfields Market.

I haven’t had any Fish and Chips for ages and to be honest I hadn’t missed eating them. If you’re going to pig-out on carbs then you might as well do it on carbs of decent quality and there hadn’t been any new openings of note. I also wanted somewhere close by so Poppies suited the bill.

The first shock is how bright the place is. Combine that with an interior decorated like a Piccadilly Circus souvenir shop and 50’s hits playing on the PA and it would be inadvisable to visit with a hangover or like I did, feeling slightly under the weather.

Still it didn’t seem to put off the punters: Shoreditch hipsters with stupid haircuts and skinny jeans queuing for takeaway; groups of lads lining their stomachs before a few pints; Japanese tourists admiring the Formica tables. And me, of course.

Food was a bit of a mixed bag. Despite all the shiny, modern exterior it’s still a bog-standard London chippy at heart which means the scoff churned out is ok if not quite delivering F&C nirvana.

The fryers had made a decent fist of cooking some Whitebait. The little fish had been given quite a light coating of flour before frying so you could actually taste the fish as oppose to the oil. Perhaps they could have been a tad more crisp but it was marginal and at £3.95 a painless way to start a meal.

The Fish and Chips themselves weren’t so great. A thin fillet of Haddock was soft and was enveloped by limp batter that hadn’t really bubbled up in the prescribed manner. Chips were of the pale and uninteresting variety and also could have done with a bit of crisping up.

Homemade tartare sauce was mayonnaise-heavy and needed more chopped up gherkins or something similar to give it texture. Mushy Peas – also homemade - were slightly bizarre - more like a Pea Soup (a nod to London in the 50’s perhaps?). The taste was too pea-like and the last thing mushy peas should taste like are peas. I don’t know why places in the South bother, I really don’t.

So not the best Fish and Chips you can get in the capital – although I haven’t been for a while I suspect Masters Superfish still holds that crown – but at least they had the virtue of not tasting oily and craving the carbs I did finish the lot, but felt slightly grubby afterwards: full of regret and self-loathing (as us svelte Metropolitan types are wont to do after a binge).

One for the tourists.